


Worth

by Wyndle (mollymauks)



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/Wyndle
Summary: ! RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS !Set pre Rhythm of War, probably fairly early on in Jasnah and Wit's foray into romantic territory (though tbh they're early on in RoW, so this is probably like...a month before or something). Anyway. Jasnah takes a moment to herself to Think Deep Thoughts about the world. Wit joins her and they Think Deep Thoughts together. Honestly it's just them vibing with each other for the whole fic because I get a serious kick out of that aspect of their dynamic and I really enjoy writing it. I don't know how else to sell this to you. I feel like at this point if you're here you're here for good. So enjoy."Jasnah was respected, certainly.She might even be loved, by her family, whom she loved deeply in turn.But she was rarely liked. And seldom wanted.When the impenetrable tides of the Cosmere pushed someone towards her like Wit, though? Someone who not only seemed to actually like and want her, but also understand her? Well, then she was only human.Human, and lonely. So lonely. Craving things others did not seem to believe she actually wanted."
Relationships: Hoid (Cosmere)/Jasnah Kholin, Jasnah Kholin/Wit (Stormlight Archive)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Worth

**Author's Note:**

> welcome friends. it's time for more of your regularly scheduled 'Taryn loves Jasnah and Wit too fucking much' entertainment. please enjoy.

Sometimes, Jasnah forgot that the world was beautiful. 

Academically, she knew that it was. She understood the quest of artists and poets to capture it, just as she sought to capture and unravel the mysteries of the past. Different types of scholarship, but both worthy, she now saw. 

Yet practically, day-to-day, she did not often have the luxury of thinking about it. 

So much of her life had been spent inside, enclosed by stone walls, buried in dusty books, surrounded by towering shelves, not mountains. The cold glow of spheres had replaced the warm kiss of the sun for her for so long now. 

She had never resented her surroundings. They had made her feel contained, safe. The points by which she might have been approached, or attacked, could be easily identified, countered, and understood, when inside. It was a controlled environment, and that was the kind she preferred. 

Strange, though, that close confines should make her feel protected now, considering…

Well, it did not do to dwell on that. Besides. It was the darkness that truly conjured up those particular Voidbringers. 

She gave herself a little shake, refocusing on what unfolded before her, like a masterwork painting she had been included in. A single brushstroke in the centre of the piece, an afterthought, there merely to demonstrate how small humanity was in comparison to the expanse of nature. 

Her chambers, by design, did not have a balcony. The danger it might allow in had not been worth risking for the sake of a pretty outlook and some fresh air. As a Radiant, she did not need to breathe, fresh air or otherwise. And if she needed something nice to look at while in her interior rooms, she’d ask Shallan for a sketch. 

Still. It  _ was _ pleasant to stand out here, for a moment. 

The meeting she’d attended in Dalinar’s chambers had concluded, and the others had left almost at once to deal with other business about the tower. 

This had left Jasnah to a rare moment of solitude and free time, when no-one expected her to be anywhere, so she had been free to simply be where she was. 

In a rare impulse, she had taken the liberty of stepping out onto the balcony, and now she savoured this small gift she had afforded herself. 

She missed the peace of being alone. Save Ivory, of course, but he was as much a part of her as her blood or bones, and did not count. 

Urithiru was absolutely the place she needed to be. The goal of her long years of solitary research had been accomplished. It was time to move on to the next, and this tower was its natural staging ground. 

Yet a part of her wished for those days. Solitude had been her blessing and her burden, back then, but now she only thought of it fondly. 

She had been free, undisturbed by others and their needs, to do as she had wished to do. She had been unconstrained, unbound, save the pressures she had placed upon herself. 

The burden of a dying world no-one else had noticed or heard screaming, as she had, had weighed upon her, and her alone. Like the Herald, Taln, for all those years, she had held the weight of Roshar and all those who lived upon it. Unknown. Unseen. Ignored. 

Now that burden was shared. She had others that would listen to her, that could help. A good thing. For in bearing it alone, despite her torment, her pains, and her best efforts, she had failed. Again. 

A part of her missed her peace, however. There was little of it to be found here. 

She smiled wryly at herself, drumming her fingers on the balcony’s stone rail. 

Wit would likely have had something to say had he been privy to her current musings. Something sarcastic, yet blended with enough insight to be profound all the same. 

Satisfy a chull’s most basic wants and needs - food, water, shelter - and it would be content. 

Satisfy a human’s most extravagant, outlandish and unnecessary wants and needs, and they would immediately discover new ones. Most likely contrary to the ones that had just been fulfilled. 

Yes. he would like that idea. She tucked the thought away to share with him when he returned. He had been gone for a few weeks now, off doing whatever it was that he did. She did not begrudge him his travels. He had to do as he felt he must, and at her side was not always where he thought he was needed. 

Though she did not chastise him, she did envy him, at times. What must it be like, to have the freedom to travel, not only across Vorin Roshar, but to other worlds. 

He told her of it sometimes, at her urging. He would never say what he specifically was doing there, but she didn’t much care about that. She didn’t want the details of his adventures. She wanted to know of the places he had them. What other worlds looked like, felt like, what their history revealed of them, how they differed from Roshar, how and why culture had evolved there. 

Some of their most stimulating talks involved these things. Jasnah had found herself dreaming, as she had as a girl, of fantastical places that felt so tangible, so real, yet out of reach. 

Wit would return soon, she believed, and bring tales of other worlds. For now, she let herself simply watch her own as it turned around her. 

Thick clouds swirled overhead, like blots of ink dropped into water, expanding and encompassing. They created a cavernous ceiling so far above, making her feel enclosed, but also free. 

The vastness of it made her feel small. So small. So insignificant to this world she had tried to save. Likely it neither cared nor noticed. That gave her a strange sense of comfort. It was nice, for once, not to be seen, not to feel the weight of eyes and expectation upon her. 

A wild songling flew past at her eye level, sculpting the sky with its wings, trilling in warning of her presence to others she could not see. 

Wind blew through the mountains around her, rising, and falling, and echoing in a song that seemed just for her. 

Yes. This world was beautiful. This was what she fought for. These quiet moments. The spaces between the words of the history books. The moments no-one thought to write of, but which they lived for. 

She had become so deeply entrenched in saving the world, lately, that she hadn’t taken enough time to appreciate precisely what she was saving. It was good to look out, now, to take a moment, to remember. 

This was  _ her _ world. If Odium wanted it, he would have to pry it from her bloody, clawing fingers. And she would not make it easy for him. 

The door behind her opened, and Jasnah felt herself tense, alert. Ivory, on her collar, always keeping watch for her, murmured, “Wit. He comes to find you.” 

She smiled, in spite of herself. 

“Thank you,” she told Ivory, whose careful observation of the world around her, covering her blindspots, was the only reason she felt even a little safety these days. 

Excitement rose in her at the thought that Wit had returned. A part of her, that quiet, cautious part that whispered always of what might hurt her, warned that her eagerness in this moment was more dangerous to her than any blade or poisoned bread had ever been. 

She acknowledged that. She would be a fool not to. She was no sheltered child any longer, believing that if a person loved her, they would be incapable of ever hurting her. 

Yet, for all she valued her solitude, loneliness was something else entirely. 

She would be a liar if she claimed to not have felt lonely these past few years. 

Jasnah did not need people. She had built a life for herself that all but ensured she would never  _ need _ anyone else for any reason ever again. 

But she could want them. 

That feeling was rarely mutual, however. 

Oh, Jasnah was respected, certainly. She was renowned as a scholar and well-regarded in many academic circles. She was sought after and coveted as a means of cosying up to political favour or power. She was needed now as a queen, a thinker, a Radiant. 

She might even be loved, by her family, whom she loved deeply in turn. 

But she was rarely liked. And seldom wanted. 

Jasnah did not often dwell on that. She would  _ not _ waste her precious time wallowing in self pity like a hog in crem. She had far better things to do with herself than that. 

When the impenetrable tides of the Cosmere pushed someone towards her like Wit, though? Someone who not only seemed to actually like and want her, but also  _ understand _ her? Well, then she was only human. 

Human, and lonely. So lonely. Craving things others did not seem to believe she actually wanted. 

At times she had felt like the last member of a dying species. Alien. Unable to properly fit with anyone around her, no matter how hard she tried. 

Then Wit. Another who did not fit his world. Someone who saw her, and knew, they were of a rare kind. And by some stroke of luck they had found another like them. Two topaz spheres in a basin full of diamonds. 

She felt it as he stepped up behind her, slow, footsteps deliberately loud so she knew that he was there. Then he put his arms around her, clasping his hands in front of her, holding her to him. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder. 

“What makes you believe I’m thinking anything?” she replied, absently reaching up and carding her fingers through his neatly styled hair. 

“When are you not?” he returned, smoothly, nuzzling at her neck. Not to entice, simply...For intimacy’s sake. 

She had, incredibly, found herself missing his strange little physical displays of affection while he was gone. So she allowed this. He was always more prone to such bouts when he’d been away for a time. 

“Mm, a point,” she allowed. 

“Come then,” he said, breath pleasantly warm on her skin, “A clip for them?” 

“A clip?” she repeated, frowning. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, as if he’d just remembered something. Likely which planet he was on. Literally. “A small metal coin. Not from around these parts,” he explained, confirming her hypothesis. 

“And what would I do with a small metal coin that’s not from around here?” she asked, amused. 

It had likely been nothing more than an honest slip on his part, a forgotten habit, but she always liked to see what she could tease from these little lapses. 

“Oh I’m quite sure you’d think of something,” he said, lightly, “Perhaps even something somewhat clever, knowing you.” 

“Indeed,” she said, “And what will you do with my thoughts, should I give them to you?” 

“Torment them,” he said, promptly, “Twist them, and turn them, and then make them dance for your entertainment while wearing that  _ lovely _ purple havah that suits you so well.” 

She smiled. 

“Come then,” he said, “Tell me what wondrous, profound, revelatory thoughts the great Jasnah Kholin has been thinking on upon this lonely balcony of Urithiru?” 

She breathed in the crisp mountain air, and said, simply, “I think that this world is beautiful, Wit.” 

Another man might have made some empty comment regarding her own beauty, which would have done nothing but put her off. Fortunately, Wit knew better. 

He only rested his head on her shoulder again and said, with uncharacteristic reverence, “Yes, it is.” 

“Beautiful,” she repeated, “And worth saving.” 

He perked up at that, and though she couldn’t see his face, she could imagine the expression on it as he planned to do with this thought exactly what he’d said he would. 

“If the world were ugly,” he said, musing, “Would it then  _ not _ be worth saving in your estimation, my dear? Very judgemental of you.” 

“If I didn’t consider ugly things worth saving, I’d have allowed someone to assassinate you months ago, Wit,” she replied. 

“How kind of you to forbid them,” he said lightly, not missing a beat, "It’s been attempted recently, then?” he added, with an indecent kind of interest. 

“Yes. Three times.” 

“Thrilling. A good assassination attempt every so often does  _ wonders _ for one’s reflexes. Not to mention their sense of self-importance. After all, no-one ever tries to assassinate the unimportant,” he observed. 

She might have noted how strange it was that someone was pleased to have been the subject of an assassination attempt. But this was Wit, and that was therefore expected behaviour from him. Not worthy of any special consideration.

Instead she drummed her fingers on the stone rail in front of her, considering. 

“I’d permit the next one to slip through my defences to keep you on your toes,” she told him drily, “But I fear if your head becomes any more inflated than it already is, it may explode and ruin my new havah.” 

Wit laughed loudly at that, and in so doing yielded their little verbal sparring match to her. A token of her victory. 

He kissed her neck gently, and she could feel the smile on his lips as he did so. That made her feel warm. 

“In any case,” she said, settling more completely against him, allowing him to hold her more firmly against him, their bodies melding more as she relaxed into it, “I don’t think a world is capable of being ugly, Wit.” 

“That, my dear, very much depends,” he said lightly. 

“On what?” 

“On how you feel about sand,” he said, with a dramatic sigh. 

“I feel that it’s coarse, stubborn, and irksome to find unexpectedly in your shoe,” she deadpanned in return, “Based on that I think we’d get on just fine, given that we seem very much alike.” 

Wit huffed an amused laugh against her neck at that. “I assure you, I would be much happier to find you in my shoe than sand, Jasnah. Far more so were it my bed, in place of my shoe,” he added, his voice deepening as he said it. 

She smiled faintly. She would not object to spending that time alone with him tonight after his absence. They always bonded more deeply afterwards, and she enjoyed the pleasurable distraction it provided. A nice reset for her mind. 

“Later, perhaps,” she murmured softly, “If you earn your place there.” 

“You wound me, Jasnah,” he said, allowing the mood of the conversation to flow smoothly back to light, neutral ground again, without the heat of loaded implications. “You know I always do my utmost to remain by your side as your Wit.” 

“You have done satisfactorily in that area thus far, I will admit,” she allowed. 

He  _ did _ make a good Wit, and she had employed him on more than one occasion, to the general devastation of his target. 

“And in other areas?” he prompted, resting against her once more. 

“Mm, I’m still considering.” 

Wit smiled against her once more, then stretched up and kissed her temple as he said, “I think that you’re right, dear one.” 

“I may require you to be more specific, Wit,” she said, smiling slightly, “As I’m often right.” 

He chuckled, “Quite correct. In this case, I believe that you’re right in saying that a world cannot be ugly. Not in a way that makes it unworthy of saving, at any rate.” 

“No,” she agreed, softly, “Especially since this world still has heart, left, Wit, and that alone is worth preserving.” 

He hummed softly in affirmation, then said, “Do you know, Jasnah, I do believe that I’ve missed you.” 

“It’s been three weeks, Wit,” she said drily, “You’ll notice you survived my absence.” 

But she smiled, in spite of her words, and that warmth flared in her again. 

She believed him when he said things like that. In truth, she believed him when he said most things. They may be convoluted or misleading, but they were not outright lies. 

“And you?” he said, nuzzling at her like an axehound puppy under a blanket again, “Did you survive without your Wit?” 

“Barely,” she deadpanned. 

Then she softened, because she enjoyed this game between them, this playful back and forth that kept them both sharp and engaged, but she was discovering something deeper that existed beneath the surface of it. And she felt that worth noting, too. 

Placing her hands on top of his, she said quietly, “I am glad to see you back, Wit,” her smile genuine. “Life tends to be more interesting when you’re around.” 

“My dear,” he replied, in mock outrage, “This almost implies that I have a  _ purpose _ in being here.” 

“Further evidence that you don’t count as art, Wit,” she said lightly, smiling. 

“ _ Further _ evidence?” he repeated. 

“Didn’t we already discuss your beauty? More specifically its lack?” she replied, falling comfortably back into rhythm with him. 

“Jasnah!” he exclaimed, “I worked very hard when sculpting this face to make it as aesthetically pleasing as possible!” 

“To chasmfiends?” 

He snorted. 

“You are truly irresistible, dear,” he told her, tone half genuinely fond, half playfully wicked. 

“Really?” she prompted, expecting the follow-through. 

“As irresistible as a man lashed to a chull being pulled  _ irresistibly _ along behind it as it rampages freely through the plains,” he said, completing the sequence of their dance. 

“Chulls don’t rampage, Wit,” she said flatly. 

“Well then pretend that they do. For the sake of  _ art _ , Jasnah,” he returned. 

She smiled, then glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes bright, twinkling. He didn’t seem offended or at all hurt by her jibes but- 

“Did I take that too far then?” she asked, bluntly. 

She liked that she could ask him those kinds of questions, with the knowledge that they would be taken with the sincerity she intended, and without judgement. A part of her still feared the answer. 

“Not at all,” Wit replied. 

Though his tone was still light and jovial, she felt herself relax again. That was the truth, for he did not tell those sorts of lies. 

“I haven’t had such a pleasantly stimulating conversation since, well, since our last,” he added, and there seemed a genuine fondness in his words. 

She smiled again, as he punctuated this last with a soft kiss, which she dipped back slightly to receive. Then he pulled her close, hands resting comfortably against her, chin on her shoulder once more, following her gaze out over the mountains. 

They stood in silence for a while, enjoying one another’s warmth and company. 

Then he punctured the moment like a stray arrow to the lung by commenting, conversationally, “Have you considered that were I an assassin, this would be an  _ excellent _ position from which to stab you?”

Jasnah tensed. She did not flinch, she did  _ not _ . He was joking. She knew that he was joking. He had told her, quite openly, that he could not physically harm another living person. Curiously, she believed that. 

She still reacted to his words as if they were an attempted strike at her. 

Then she took a breath, and allowed her shardplate to manifest around her. It was always there, safeguarding her, protecting her, but it felt good to bring it into existence in this moment. 

Wit laughed lightly, but the sound seemed to be lacking his usual humour. 

She turned to face him at last, sliding out of his grip. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her face with his hand. 

“Always prepared,” he said softly, “Always ready for the worst to happen at all times. I know that. I know your fears, and I should not have made light of them with a jest. I apologise.” 

She nodded, allowing her plate to fade back into the cognitive realm again. 

Choosing to ignore the latter part of his statement, and its implications, she said, “We’re at war, Wit. It’s only reasonable to be on your guard at all times.” 

Wit smiled again, that knowing, almost sad look. His hand rested gently against her cheek and he said, “What a convenient excuse that must be for you, Jasnah.” 

She turned away, out of his gentle caress. Yes. It was a convenient excuse. He was getting in too close, learning to read her too well, he- 

No. She shut those feelings down and took a deep breath. 

He was right, of course. It was hard to trust a world that had dealt so much pain to her. Hard to trust people when they always hurt you. Even the ones that loved you.  _ Especially _ those. She couldn’t articulate that to him yet, however. She was unsure if she even wanted to. 

Wit seemed to sense that, and he slid his fingers under her chin, gentle but firm, and coaxed her to look up at him again. “There will be a time you can relax, Jasnah. It seems impossible to conceive of it now, but you will feel safe again. Some day.” 

She leaned forwards, pressing her forehead to his. How sweet that would be if it were true. How nice it would feel. She said nothing, because she did not believe, but did not want to undermine his sentiment. 

“We will save it, Jasnah,” he murmured to her, “Your beautiful world.” 

She smiled, “Then perhaps we might actually enjoy it,” she said, thinking back on her earlier musings. 

Wit smiled, “No, my dear,” he said, and she withdrew, frowning slightly, to look at him, “Then I will show you new worlds for you to study and learn of and feast upon.” 

She smiled at that, very broadly, for it was the first time he had so directly stated, without flowery implications or vague hints, that he would like her to accompany him. 

“Even the ones covered in sand?” she asked, amused. 

“For you, Jasnah?” he said, eyes twinkling, “Why yes, we can even go to Taldain. If you insist.” 

“I do, Wit,” she said, turning back to look out across the mountains, taking his arm and coaxing him to put it around her once more, enveloping her in his warmth. 

Safety, even in the open.

“I wish to see it,” she said, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment to imagine, “I wish to see them all.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> AYYYYY YOU MADE IT! WELCOME TO THE END NOTES. Please feed me. My children are starving. By which I mean that I'm running out of content to inflict upon you all and I need some Gentle Encouragement to produce more.


End file.
